A Death Knight's Tale: Morital
by Soulfire79
Summary: The story of a death knight of Acherus, and his quest for retribution. Please read and review.


Prologue 1: Against the Scourge

It was a bleak day. Of course, all the days in this land were bleak. Morital doubted that this land had seen a truly happy day since the Scourge had been unleashed upon it, perhaps forever cursing it to be a twisted mockery of better times. The orc shook his head. Such things were too deep to think about in battle, and it seemed as if he would soon be thrust into combat.

Standing up from his short reverie on the hill, Morital gazed over his encampment. Men and orcs milled about, a strange sight, to be sure. Morital mused that it was probably no stranger than the fact that the dead were walking the earth, but it was strange trying to cooperate with the Alliance rather than fighting them. It was an alliance of convenience.

A few days ago, Morital and his comrades, a good sized force, had shipped out of Undercity. The orders were simple. They were to establish a base in the Plaguelands, defeating any Scourge they encountered. Hopefully, they could cleanse the foul taint of the mindless scourge from Azeroth.

The plan, of course, had failed. The force had marched into the Plaguelands, only to be ambushed almost immediately. Doubtlessly some necromancer or Scourgelord directed the assault, which was well coordinated. Most of the warriors had been slaughtered, with barely a chance to strike back. Morital had thought that his death would have been certain, and was determined to meet it with the honor of a proud and honorable warrior of the Horde. Fortunately, fate had other plans. The blaring of trumpets drifted over the sounds of battle, heralding the arrival of reinforcements. However, they were not of the Horde, but warriors of the Alliance. Shocked as he was, Morital was grateful for the assistance, and together the Horde and Alliance forces beat back the Scourge monstrosities.

The Alliance had offered the Horde soldiers a truce, as they were hard pressed themselves, having lost many of their own warriors in a series of attacks. The leader of these warriors was a man named Huralian, a strong warrior-captain of Stormwind. His leader had sent him on a similar mission to rid the land of the Scourge. With the death of my superiors, Morital now lead the small contingent that remained, and accepted the Alliance's truce.

That had been just three days past. The Horde had settled into the Alliance camp as best they could, a small patch of raised land with a few outward facing stakes for protection. For now, the forces were regrouping, and no decision as to the next move had been made. Messengers had been sent back to ask for reinforcements for both sides, without which any advance would be unthinkable. Morital prayed to the ancestors that that they would survive long enough to welcome reinforcements. It seemed like most of the undead had been pulled out of the area, as if they were being held back. It reeked of an impending attack, but retreat was not an option, and Morital was very well prepared to die for the Warchief and the Horde.

He just hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Morital began to stride through the encampment, going over to discuss strategy with his Alliance counterpart. Then, however, something caught his eye. Two figures were moving across the plain, and they did not look like any agents of the Scourge. As they approached, he saw that they were scouts, a human and the other orc. It appeared as though the orc was supporting the human, who seemed to have some kind of limp. The display of compassion was extraordinary, and would have been unthinkable not so long ago. The pair crossed the plain as quick as they could, eventually arriving in the camp. An Alliance healer rushed to take the injured scout, and the orc came to report to Morital.

"There's a whole army of Scourge out there! It looks like most of the Scourge from that town (Andorhal) and the surrounding area, all grouped up! There were some humans that looked like they were herding them together… it looked like they were about ready to launch an attack!" The scout said, his words moving as fast as his mouth could form them, with a horrible look of fear in his eyes.

Morital growled, then struck the scout a stinging blow across the face. "Get ahold of yourself!" he yelled. "A warrior of the Horde does not soil himself in the face overwhelming odds; he laughs at them! Now go rest up. If things are as you say, we'll need all the help we can get." The shocked scout stared numbly at his commander, and then nodded weakly before stumbling to his cot. Morital shook his head. If the Scourge was about to attack, the last thing he needed were panicked soldiers. Sighing, the orc made his way over to the Alliance commander.

Morital pushed into the tent, as no one moved to hinder his access. The man before him was a superior specimen of his race. He was tall and strong, almost a match for the average orc. His face wore a haggard expression, his eyes feverishly poring over missives and a large map of the area. "Huralian." The orc said. The commander looked up, giving the orc a nod, then giving the map another glance before clearing off the table and offering Morital a seat.

The orc sank into the chair, and then cut to the heart of the matter. "My scout reported seeing an army of Scourge mustering to the east, not far from here. They almost certainly mean to attack us. And I'm not certain if we will be able to repel them. However valiant our warriors, we are outnumbered, and the Scourge does not retreat."

Huralian sighed. "Blasted undead. They just don't quit." He sighed again, his face falling into his hand. "I'm beginning to think this was a suicide mission before we were ambushed. I don't know if these lands will ever be cleansed, or if they'll just remain a damn walking graveyard!" his voice rising in frustration in anger.

Morital snorted. "The battle may be hopeless, but it is not lost yet. I intend to give those undead wretches a fight they won't soon forget, if I must fall." The orc said, a grin taking hold of his face. The Alliance commander looked at his counterpart and chuckled. From what Morital had observed, the man was an able and honorable commander, an adversary to be treated with respect… and an ally to welcome. Pity it took the awakening of the dead to unite them. With a moment's thought, he reached his armored hand to the commander. The man looked at him solemnly, and then gripped the fist. "For Azeroth." Morital solemnly said.

At that moment, one of the lookouts let out a cry of alarm. "Scourge coming from the east!" she yelled, "There's, there's so many!" Mortital rushed out of the tent and looked out. Sure enough, a black tide of the undead rolled out of the trees like oversized locusts, though not nearly as benign. The orc charged to his own encampment, where warriors rushed about, grabbing weapons in a frenzy of activity.

Morital leaped up on to a crate, raising him above his soldiers; orcs, tauren, trolls, and even a few blood elves and forsaken. "LOK'TAR OGAR!" he yelled, his voice bringing the soldiers to a halt, "Victory or death, sons and daughters of the Horde! Today we face our doom, and it faces the might of the Horde! For the Warchief! For the Horde!" he thundered. Hiwls and cheers arose from the crowd, as the soldiers yelled back their own battle cries.

At this point, the Scourge had almost reached the camp. The first ghoul pulled itself over the barricade, leaping into the air with an unearthly howl. Roaring in rage, Morital brought up his axe, turned, and cleaved the undead in half with a single, smooth motion. The soldiers rushed to the barricade, the ferocity of their attack hurling back the first wave of undead. Morital fought like an orc possessed, his axe carving the Scourge like so much cattle meat. His fury was unstoppable, or so it seemed.

The momentum of the charge soon faded. The Scourge smashed holes in the defensive line of both the Horde and Alliance forces, ghouls pouring into the gaps. Still, ten ghouls fell for every living soldier that was lost. Then, the abominations waded into the fray. Huge and disgusting creatures, their bodies formed of sewn together bits of flesh. Their enormous bellies hung open, exposing their entrails for all to see.

Wherever they swung, the living died (though the managed to take a fair chunk of ghouls out themselves). Morital cried out in fury, his axe taking two big swings out of a creature, which stumbled back, then leaping into the air and planting the blade into it chest. With a wrench, the blade was freed, and the creature collapsed as whatever passed for blood oozed out. Motivated, the soldiers followed their leader's example, cutting down more of the horrid beasts.

But the Scourge was far from finished. A contingent of human soldiers stepped through the ranks to fight the living. Their eyes glowed blue and they wielded blades inscribed with archaic runes. They dealt deadly blows wherever they struck, aided by some type of strange magic that spread like disease. Morital took this new threat in stride, leaping to attack one of these new foes. The man-if that is what it was-was taken by surprise, and desperately parried the blows. It recovered quickly, striking just as hard as the orc. Morital just gritted his teeth and dropped his head low, and then smashed into the enemy, flinging him over his back as bull might. Raising his axe, the orc slammed it into the man's chest, eliciting a scream of pain from the now thoroughly dead victim.

The orc cast about, and spotted Huralian in desperate combat with another of the blue-eyed men. The Alliance commander had been force to the defensive, and was just trying to stay alive. Even as Morital watched, the man was forced backward by a strong blow of the stranger's sword. The blade of the enemy was long and green, and a skull decorated an orb near the back of the blade. Morital gasped. It must be the Scourge champion Darion Mograine! Even as I watched, he held out a hand, which glowed a strange blue. Huralian was bathed in the same light, and screamed as he was wracked in some pain. Mograine swung his blade, cutting a deep gash through Huralian's body. The man was thrown, already dead, to the ground.

Morital glared at the undead responsible for the death. Howling in rage, the orc charged at the Scourge warrior. His first blow was blocked by a casual smack of the blade, followed up by a powerful swing that the orc barely dodged. Clearly, Mograine was not one so easily dealt with. The next swing came too quick to dodge, cutting into the orc. It was shallow, but it hurt much more than it should have as pain wracked Morital's body. Darion smiled, then raised a fist. Suddenly it was as if the orc's blood was on fire. He dropped his axe as he howled in pain. "And now, you die!" said they dark champion, proceeding to cut a deep blow from shoulder to hip. The orc looked up in shock, as he slowly slid into death's embrace.

Darion looked out on the battle. Without their leaders, the living were helpless, and they would soon be overwhelmed. He signaled one of his subordinates, who obediently came over. "What is your bidding, Highlord?" the man said with a bow.

"Take these two to Acherus. They will make fine additions to the Scourge." The Highlord said, smirking. What sweet irony it was that the most powerful opponents of the Scourge became it's champions he mused, as he went to continue the fight. His subordinate called another over, then both called on dark mounts, griffons formed of bone. They each slung one of the dead leaders onto their mounts, then kicked off, flying to the Ebon Hold.


End file.
